The Worst Way to Lose Her
by XedwardismyromeoX
Summary: Angela's sick, and the staff at the Jeffersonian are becoming more and more forlorn. A bit of B/B hurt/comfort at the beginning, but mainly just a focus on friendship, not romance


**Hi everyone**

**Thanks for deciding to give this one a gander, all I ask is that you give it a fair chance**

**Just a warning, there is some Major Character Death in here...even though i normally dont like the genre, this story begged to be written, so in the end i just had to write it down**

**its based on a dream that i had (and now you'll all be thinking i must have the most morbid dreams EVER!), so that is how the plot was dictated**

**Id love some reviews, just to let me know if i got the emotion right etc.**

**Enjoy!**

Brennan sunk slowly to the couch, clutching the coffee mug in her hands like a lifeline. Booth sat down next to her, placing a caring arm around her waist. Brennan felt her head droop reflexively to his shoulder, and let out a sigh, seeing her breath tickle the curling steam rising from her drink. Booth's arm rubbed gently up and down Brennan's side, providing both comfort and warmth from the bitter cold of the apartment. No one had bothered to turn on a heater. No one had bothered to do most things, ever since they found out.

The news had been devastating, and no one had been prepared. Angela, visiting her local doctor for what everyone had thought was a stomach infection, had been referred to doctor after doctor, and was eventually admitted to hospital. What had seemed like hundreds of tests were undertaken, and after a few days of being uninformed, the doctor delivered the worst kind of news.

The disease was rare, brutally fast-paced, and completely fatal. The lives of the Jeffersonian workers had turned into a waiting game, their cases taking second place to their grief for the imminent loss of their friend.

A month had passed, and the weather continued to deteriorate in quality as December reared its head. The rest of the city seemed to be becoming more and more joyful as the holiday spirit filled the air, but the Jeffersonian's employees became more and more forlorn. The halls of the medico-legal lab remained in the same state as they did year round, without a single Christmas decoration in sight, yet another reminder that something was out of place with the Jeffersonian's forensic artist. She had always been the one to organise decorations, the first to fill her office with festive paraphernalia. She had even convinced Brennan to place a tree in her office the year before, despite her atheism and cynicism of the custom. But, this Christmas, Brennan's office had returned to the completely festive-free state that it had stayed in every other year.

Each member of the Jeffersonian team took turns sitting in the hospital beside Angela's bed, talking to her quietly while she was awake, and sitting in deep thought when she slipped into sleep. Every time she coughed that hacking cough, a portion of their heart was ripped away, and every time they entered the room to see her somehow even paler than before, a piece of their hope that she might somehow pull through this disappeared.

The person who took this the worst was Hodgins. He spent every free minute he had by Angela's side, always making sure the flowers in her room were fresh, and threatening every nurse he saw that if they didn't look after 'his Angela', their lives would never again be worth living. He spent whatever was required to make Angela smile, if only for a moment. A new sketchbook, a large bunch of balloons, box after box of chocolate, even an upgrade to a better room that they could visit at any hour: no expense was spared.

As the weeks had progressed and Angela's health had deteriorated, Hodgins had noticeably declined alongside her. He only did as much as he was asked in the lab, only bothered to be even slightly polite to his closest friends and, most noticeably to those friends, his sense of humour had disappeared. He no longer spoke in that playful tone that they had all become fond of, not a single conspiracy theory had been mentioned, and even if an alien had landed in the middle of Area 51 carrying the President's Book, he wouldn't have bat an eye.

That was how the squints and Booth found themselves on Christmas Eve, still waiting sullenly for something –anything- to happen.

Brennan wrapped her fingers tightly around her coffee mug, trying to get some comfort from the warm china without much success. She had just returned from the hospital, and Angela seemed to be at an all-time low. She had only woken once, and all she asked was for water. She managed to rasp out a thankyou before she slipped into sleep once more, and didn't stir for the remaining four hours Brennan had stayed at her side. Hodgins had come with a new bunch of flowers to relieve her of her bedside vigil, and Booth had offered to drive her home.

Recognising that Brennan was exhausted from her melancholy visit to the hospital, Booth had accompanied her up to her apartment, and had continued to make them each a hot drink, before gently guiding his partner to the nearest couch. They sat together, and he placed a protective and comforting arm around her, and gently rubbed up and down her waist, hoping to relax the tension he could feel rolling off her in waves. She slowly placed her head against his shoulder, and he allowed his own head to droop gently against her hair, his eyes focusing on everything and nothing before him, but his ears tuned carefully when he felt her take a breath to speak.

'I don't know what to do, Booth…' her statement trailed off into silence, but Booth knew better than to speak. After a few moments of silence, neither comfortable nor awkward, Booth felt Brennan's body rise and fall with a sigh.

'Am I a bad person for wanting this all to be over?' Booth heart ached at the insecurity and guilt in her voice, but kept his mouth shut.

'I just…I hate this waiting. We're all stuck, in this constant loop, where the pain never recedes, and we can't move on. All our minds are constantly preoccupied, wondering whether or not we've seen our friend for the last time. I can't help but feel…' Brennan took in a gulp of air, 'but feel it may have been better if this had been quick, some fatal accident. Does that make me a bad person? Does that make me a horrible friend?' Brennan trailed off, feeling her eyes begin to sting with tears as she realised how horrible that had all sounded out loud. She felt the need to get away and moved to stand up, but Booth already predicted her next action. He pulled her into a tight hug, and she clung to him tightly, desperately, somehow fearing that all would be lost if she ever let go. She suddenly realised that delicate tears were tracing tracks down her cheeks, and instinctively pulled Booth even closer. A moment later she realised that he was crying too, something that she couldn't recall him doing for a very long time. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and pulled her even closer to him, murmuring comforts in her ear.

'Shh, Bones, it's okay. You're the best friend anyone could ever ask for, don't you ever doubt that…'

In his arms he gently turned her to face away from him, then pulled her back as he lay down, acting as a human pillow beneath her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she allowed her head to fall into the crook of his neck. She sniffed slightly, but she felt her tears begin to dry. One of Booth's hands had begun stroking her hair gently, his fingers gently caressing her face and neck at the same time. She felt herself relaxing, and her sleep-deprived body begin to melt against his. She nuzzled her head against his chest, and within moments felt herself drift into a light sleep.

*

Brennan awoke to a dark, cold apartment, the only warmth coming from the man beneath her. For the first time in what felt like years she woke without any residual tension from the day before, and felt well rested. For a few blissful moments, she didn't remember anything from the month before, feeling completely at peace. But soon reality caught up with her, and all her grief and guilt reattached themselves to her like a weight. With a sigh she gently climbed off Booth, trying not to wake him, and gathered their abandoned coffee cups off the table in front of the couch. She walked to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle to get some fresh water boiling, and tried to busy herself while she waited. But all the mail had been read, and there were no messages on her phone. Her dishwasher was already empty, and her kitchen bench had hardly been used in the lat four weeks, so it didn't need to be wiped down again.

Gentle shuffling from the lounge room made her turn around, and she was momentarily dismayed to see that her attempts to not wake Booth had failed. But when he came and stood behind her, pulling her against his body in a gentle hug, her annoyance melted away to be replaced by gratefulness that he was here to help her through this. When the water boiled, Brennan began preparing the coffee. Booth reached out to help, and somehow they knew exactly what the other was doing. Their arms intertwined, never colliding, moving with the elegance of a dance, until both their drinks were done. They moved to Brennan's dining room, the only illumination in the entire room coming from a standing lamp in the corner.

Sitting at the large dining table in adjacent chairs, both Brennan and Booth sipped at their drinks, feeling decidedly calmer than before. Booth glanced at his watch, and realised with a jolt that it was 12.30am, making it very early on Christmas morning.

'Merry Christmas, Bones.'

'Hmmm?' Brennan's head snapped up from where she was staring at the grain of the wood on her table, her brows creased questioningly.

'It's Christmas, Bones.'

'Although I don't follow the religion, I have always found this particular holiday very enjoyable…'

'I wish it could have come at a better time. Angela always loved this season…'

'Do you think the hospital would let us decorate her room? I'm sure everyone would be happy to help…' Just then came a quiet knock at Brennan's door, and she rose to her feet to answer it. It had become common among the squints for them to visit at odd hours, either on their way to or back from visiting their hospitalised friend, sometimes dropping in for a drink, or on other occasions reminding each other of things for the office.

'That's a great idea, Bones, really. I'm sure Angela will appreciate it.' Booth called as she walked to the door.

Brennan smiled over her shoulder at Booth as she reached the door, but when she pulled it open and saw who her visitor was, any happiness she may have been experiencing was brutally ripped away from her.

Hodgins stood in her doorway, which momentarily confused Brennan; he was supposed to be with Angela. A split-second later she took in more than just the man before her, and she could almost feel her heart break in two. Hodgins' face was saturated with tears, his face contorted with grief beyond words. His shoulders were slumped, his entire body seemed to have been overridden with such anguish that it had given up any effort to hold itself together. But what wrenched at Brennan's heart the most were his eyes. Normally bright and lively, they had dulled until they were a wretched grey, all life and joy from them had disappeared. For a moment she was reminded of her time buried with the man before her, when the Gravedigger had taken them. That had been the only other time she had seen him anywhere near this distressed. He had been a fraction as upset as he was now, at the mere thought of never being able to see Angela again.

Suddenly she knew what had happened.

Brennan threw her arms around Hodgins' neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. Hodgins hugged her back with almost painful force, clutching handfuls of her crinkled shirt in tight fists. His body shuddered against hers, his shoulders heaving with sobs beneath her arms. Brennan felt her own throat constrict, and a whimpering cry escaped her lips as she felt the man beneath her begin to fall apart. She felt him begin to weaken in her arms, and he began to slip towards the floor. Holding him tightly so he didn't fall over, she guided him to the ground, until they were kneeling before each other, still tightly embracing. She heard Booth calling her name, but the sound was distant and she barely even registered it in her mind.

It had suddenly hit home in full force: her best friend was gone, taken from her in one of the cruellest ways possible. She would never see Angela again, never hear her laugh, never have that same friend to trust with tales and secrets that she wouldn't share with anyone else. Her best source for colloquialism translation, girlie chats and social advice was gone, and although her reasons for needing Angela sounded superficial, it was agonisingly cleaving her heart out to think that she was gone.

Burning guilt was rippling through her body; how could she have ever wished for this to be over? How could she have ever been so selfish as to wish her best friend's life to come to a close? Horrific irony coursed through her; all her childhood she had wished, begged and hoped for the return of her parents, desperate for her life to return to normal. But, this once, when she had made a foolish and idiotically selfish wish that she now realised she never wanted, fate had felt cruelly compelled to comply.

'Bones? Bones!' Booth had rushed around the corner at the sound of Hodgins and Brennan's sorrow-filled weeping, and his heart had almost stopped at the sight before him. He ran to the door Brennan had left gaping open and slammed it shut, before dropping to the floor beside the pair. They barely even seemed to recognise his presence. He was certain he knew what happened, but refused to believe it. His mind had gone into shock, rendering him speechless and completely numb. He could not- would not- believe that Angela was gone. Not until he saw it with his own eyes. This had to be some sort of horrible trick, a foul practical joke. Hodgins had to be making it up.

But then he really looked at the man before him. The utter devastation, the complete sorrow was radiating off the man, and he clutched at Brennan's shirt as though letting go would mean the end of life itself, the end of the world. But, Booth realised with a sickening jolt, this man's world had already fallen to pieces. The love of his life had just died, after a month of excruciatingly painful illness, leaving him to somehow reconstruct his life. When he saw just how much grief this man was experiencing, just how much pain he was really in, Booth knew that this was no game, and no joke.

Feeling himself begin to shake as his realisation hit home, Booth ran his quivering hands through his hair. His throat grew tight, and his eyes began to sting. The grief was growing in him, intensifying at such a rate he was sure it would never stop.

'Oh, God…' His hands tightened, his fingers clutching tightly at the hair and scraping his scalp. As he spoke, it seemed that Brennan became aware of his presence. Her arm extended, inviting him to join her embrace with Hodgins. He gratefully accepted, willing to share his grief with his closest friends, needing to let it all out. Brennan's arm linked tightly around his neck, and she hid her face in the crook of her elbow. Booth wrapped an arm around Brennan's waist and, after a moment's deliberation, tightly embraced Hodgins with the other. Hodgins reciprocated by throwing an arm around Booth, his head drooping hopelessly towards the middle of their circle. The three clumped closely together, limbs entwined. They all let out their grief, in that desolate little circle, knowing and feeling nothing other than the anguish of their loss.

**Hope you enjoyed...if that is the right term for such a story...**

**reviews would be lovely, just to let me know if this was appreciated **

**thanks for reading!**


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